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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28392606">Change of Seasons</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANNEPAST/pseuds/ANNEPAST'>ANNEPAST</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Multi, Pre-Marauders Era (Harry Potter)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:08:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28392606</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANNEPAST/pseuds/ANNEPAST</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>About the weight of seeing their own son dead, of seeing their grandson exiled to the Muggle world, of seeing friends fight and destroy each other. A simple couple, united by a great burden. After all, the seasons have changed, the great wizarding winter has arrived. The story of the interstice between wars, the story of Augustus and Catriona Potter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Augustus Potter/Catriona Potter, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Change of Seasons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            A translation of

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30265686">Mudaram As Estações</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANNEPAST/pseuds/ANNEPAST">ANNEPAST</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> <a href="https://imgbb.com/">  </a></p>
<h2>PROLOGUE , Change of Seasons</h2><p>He had never seen a corpse before. The vision was not as disturbing as Augustus had imagined a hundred times before, but what really struck the senses was the odor. Pure decay odor, fetid smell of putrefaction and decadence. Death suits only the dead, it is up to the living to know how to deal with the hypocritical and selfish desire for the presence of those who have lived there. Denying the selfishness was also not a solution, the desire to be able to hug his son one last time would not change the fact that he was indeed dead, and nor was it the case of hypocrisy, saying that the Potters were now at peace. There was no peace that night, contrary to what had been thought. An unusually hot autumn night, horribly damp, unbreathable, unbearable. And the stench was intoxicating, the flies, the worms that ate away at their flesh. The vision of death was nothing heroic, the bodies swollen, pale, rigid, being devoured, strangely dropped on the floor, one at the foot of the stairs, completely unarmed, the other at the foot of the couple's bed, completely submissive to the fact. A scene that certainly wouldn't come out of his head very easily.</p><p>But there was no chaos that night, interestingly, there was only silence, uncomfortable and unsettling. Generally, silence was his favorite moment in the pandemonium, but not now, not anymore. There were no footsteps on the wooden floor of the ruined house, although the entry and exit of people was intense, aurors, doctors, ministers. There was no rustling of clothes and capes, nor murmurs, much less hidden giggles. Even the child kept himself quiet, clutched in a pair of arms. The tears fell without making a sound, the wind did not blow. It was perhaps a sign of respect for the moment, the moment most feared by all and yet inevitable, probably one of the few certainties about life. The end.</p><p>Augustus stared at James's open, empty, forcibly taken eyes as he sat on one of the first steps of the stairs. The heat was unbearable, muffled, beads of sweat dripped from his forehead, dripped onto the dirty pavement. The tears no longer came to his eyes, they had been inside the house for hours, waiting for the Ministry for Magic to grant permission for the removal of the bodies and the beginning of the wake. Time was running down his fingers, they wouldn't have many more days before the funeral, the late summer caught October with a stab in the back, the bodies were already in corruption. He hadn't had the courage to go up and watch Lily wither, ironically. For some reason, unknown to him, seeing her dead body was incredibly painful, probably because it was vaguely reminiscent of Catriona - it was intolerable even to think about that, one day, it would be the dead body of his dear Catriona. James, his corpse at least, was more of a reflection of what would someday be his own end, perhaps. The resemblance between father and son was undeniable, although only physical - James did not reflect his thoughts, did not reflect Catriona's ideas, he had always been a young man with his own morality. Always so stubborn, so irresponsible, always so dedicated to his own beliefs. The way his son was taken, a young father, unarmed, always ready to give his own life for any of them, hurt his chest.</p><p>For any of them. Everyone and anyone. Even for <strong>him</strong>. Pig. Disgusting. Traitor. He digged his nails in the flesh of his hands as Augustus remembered him, still staring at James's corpse on the floor.</p><p>Augustus Potter had met him on the same day as James, ten years ago now, in the first days of September of nineteen seventy-one. It had been an almost unsettling connection between the four Gryffindor first-year boys. He had been a professor of History of Magic for what seemed like the thousandth consecutive year, but at the same time that everything seemed to repeat itself, as usual, everything seemed new, as if he had never even stepped into that school before. It was strange, it was a terrifying feeling, almost. And perhaps because of this, because of this lack of fit in the story, the betrayal was even more painful. He was entrusted with the greatest secret of the Order of the Phoenix, and it was not long before the truth was revealed. In reality it didn't take long for the Nameless to know where the Potter was, when the child's birth happened, what were the security breaches, what were the smallest flaws in the organization. They knew everything, the Death Eaters, every little detail, had always known. It was always clear that someone's loyalty within that circle was questionable - doubt that would culminate in the two corpses in that house. He felt the blood rising through is throat, hatred boiling in his veins. And he couldn't do anything about it anymore, it was too late. James and Lily were dead.</p><p>"Augustus -" old Albus, again, that had not been silent for a second that whole night, unusually. "Augustus, the Daily Prophet, read it."</p><p>News came through the Daily Prophet, that was the spectacle during the transition from night to morning. News that revealed his name, published that the traitor had committed his last act of despair. Perhaps in an attempt to maintain the little sanity that still remained, in an attempt to recover the little affection that was still left within a few believers, he had taken another thirteen lives with him. In a final duel, Sirius Black had murdered twelve Muggles and Peter Pettigrew.</p><p>The reservations about the loyalty of the members of the Order always felt on Remus Lupin, curiously, probably due to his susceptibility. He has always been the boy who, for strange reasons, was in the wrong place, at the wrong time, he had always been the exception of the group. Evidently the judgment had been hasty, and he was perhaps the only member who would never betray the trust of the few friends he had. Sirius Black, on the contrary, had always been a troubled young man, without answers, lost between two worlds, it was not surprising that, in the end, he had yielded to the pressure of that famous madness that gallops through the Black veins. The brother himself, who died a few years ago, had given his life for his lord, just as it was crystal clear what the two cousins, Bellatrix and Narcissa, had done as well. But it still hurt. Catriona and Augustus welcomed him with open arms, loved him as they loved James, would not have hesitated once to protect him. It was a lacerating wound, the one open on his chest, it was difficult to breathe, the hot, heavy air refused to fill his lungs. And although he wanted to succumb to tears again, there were no more feelings to be cried, other than anger, but this revulsion cannot express itself through tears.</p><p>“Take the child, I need- You can't take the child!”, Augustus was interrupted from his own daydreams, surprised. He had raised his head in the direction of the roar. Catriona, who had not taken a mere second to look at the bodies, had stood up, towards little Harry James. She would probably drown in her own grudges if she sat for another minute in front of the fireplace, glasses in hand, glass shattered in her lap. Yes, they were both aware that the grandson would be assured to the maternal uncles, as Dumbledore wanted, to keep the child as far away from witchcraft as possible while he was allowed to - but they were still his grandparents and the baby still had the right to the tenderness they had to offer.</p><p>“Dumbledore, no. Just don't. ” Catriona Buchanan, although she had once been a slytherin, was that kind of flame that burned in silence, that burned from the inside out, that was impossible to extinguish, that when you noticed its presence, the damage had already been done. It was distressing to see her there, motionless, taciturn - and it had been delightfully pleasurable to feel Albus's controversial gaze on the sleeping Harry James boy. "Get out of my way, I'll take him outside with me, it's too hot in here".</p><p>"Hagrid will come as soon as dawn."</p><p>"I know. Augustus- ”, she had taken the boy in her arms, waiting for Augustus to get up and accompany her to Godric’s Hollow church. They walked quietly along the winding pavement of the street, side by side, slowly, just watching a few Muggles rise and fall down the lane. They went through the tumult at the Potter's house without noticing the slightest difference, nothing had changed for them that Halloween night. The children were about to wake up again, the old people were already in procession for the service, it was All Saints' Day already, it was time to redeem themselves. They reached the cemetery on the back of the chapel and sat there, on one of the garden benches, just watching the inertia.</p><p>It was agonizing to look at Augustus, just as it was for Harry. They were the same restless, dark hair, the skin tender under a questionable countenance. Father, son, grandson - there were three facets of the same humanity, they were incredibly similar. Except for his eyes, Harry had Lily's eyes. Eyes Catriona had avoided looking at. It was evident the disgust that Augustus was going through at that moment, but she, she could no longer feel anything. She had spent most of her time admiring the empty fireplace, next to Remus - who had decided to drown his distress in firewhiskey and fall asleep over his own tears. It was a feeling of loneliness, a gap, anything that was lost with his son was excruciating, as if every part of her being screamed for help, as if she would never be allowed to rise to the surface again. Catriona couldn't think about her son covered in dirt, but it was less strange for her to bury the two together, there, in Godric’s Hollow, as soon as possible. They deserved serenity after the whirlwind. No rituals needed, Augustus didn't want Catriona to keep James' heart. Only quiet.</p><p>Sirius' motorbike, with a huge Hagrid, had just cut through the sky, and, without noticing anything, the faithful muggles arrived calmly at the church, with candles in their hands, forming a path of light in the middle of the dawn that was beginning to appear. The bells did not ring that morning, they seemed too heavy, perhaps embarrassed. There was only a murmur of echoing voices, which still remained low, whispered, covered by the rising wind, which was growing stronger and stronger. The humidity was no longer suffocating, it was cold, icy, sharp. It was about to snow. There was no heat, they were embraced by the cold of winter, by an almost blinding morning, so white. The air condensed around the three, huddled in front of the tombs. The summer had then been taken out by force, November had finally arrived. The seasons had changed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>To be continued.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Translation from portuguese "Mudaram as Estações", my own work - Annepast</p></blockquote></div></div>
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